The Devil's Concubine (10 page)

Her body seemed almost to sizzle even now, prickling as it sometimes did in the

winter time when the heat of the hearth seemed to charge her hair and woolen garments with some strange energy.

She felt--expectant, oddly agitated.

Her womanhood felt hot and uncomfortably moist and as prickly aware as the rest

of her, perhaps more so. For several moments, she fought back the nervous feeling

assailing her, willing her breathing and rapid heartbeat to return to normal.

After a moment, she focused determinedly on rinsing the soap and ink from the

gown, her ears pricked for any sound that might tell of his approach. She felt a little let down when he didn’t and finally nerved herself to glance in his direction.

He was frowning, she saw, but she didn’t think it was anger--nor concentration

for that matter, although he was busy, she saw with relief, securing his breechcloth. For several moments, she was captured by that act, watching the play of muscles in his arms, trying hard to keep her curious gaze from examining the bulge in his breechcloth too

keenly.

If she had not been so preoccupied with examining his body, she might have

noticed sooner that he had both hands occupied. As it was, he’d finished and reached for another article of clothing before she realized he’d laid the parchment he’d stolen from her on the bed.

She averted her gaze. Lifting the hand cloth from the rung that held it, she

brushed absently at the damp spot she’d made, trying to watch him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye.

He’d picked up a pair of trousers. Surprised, she forgot she was trying to be sly

and flicked a gaze at his face as he thrust one foot into the breeches he held up.

He was focused, she saw, on what he was doing.

If she had stopped to consider, she would have realized that the chance of

snatching the parchment before he could react was slim at best. She acted on impulse, however, and the moment she burst into movement, his sharp, hawk-like gaze zeroed in

on her.

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Jaide Fox

42

Releasing his grip on the trouser, he caught her even as she tried to dart past and

snatch the drawing. Before she could even inhale a startled gasp, she found herself lying flat of her back on the bed with Talin planted firmly on top of her. Too stunned to think, much less to fight, she gaped up at him, blinking as she sucked in a harsh, startled breath.

A slow smile began to curve his finely etched lips. Something gleamed in his

eyes that was equal parts amusement and … something else that seemed directly related to that serpent in his breechcloth, for it … grew. And seemed to seek the heated crevice between her thighs as he prodded the top of her mound. “There was no need to assault

me,” he murmured. “If you are ready you need only say so.”

Aliya felt her jaw sag. Discovering her mouth was bone dry, she licked her lips.

His eyes slid half closed. He followed the movement of her tongue, his gaze watchful.

“Ready?” she managed to ask weakly.

Almost reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from her mouth and met her eyes. “To

join.”

Aliya blinked again as if she’d never heard the word before. “Join what?” she

asked in confusion.

A husky chuckle escaped him. He dropped his head, nipping at the tender skin of

her neck. A rash of goose bumps pebbled her skin, spreading like wildfire down her

chest and arms. She felt her nipples pucker into hard little knots and shifted

uncomfortably, fearful that he would feel the rigid points.

He must have, for he began to wind a trail downwards with his lips. “Our

bodies,” he murmured, “in the mating dance. I am striving for patience, but I confess it is a struggle.”

Aliya sucked in a breath and held it as he nuzzled the space between her breasts

and began to climb toward one engorged peak.

A sense, almost of smugness, filled her when she realized his intent, for he had

her wrists pinned to the bed on either side of his head. He could not hold her and use his hands, and
this
time she was fully clothed.

A jolt of stunned surprise went through her when he covered the tip with his

mouth and suckled it. Even through the fabric the heat of his mouth and the teasing

stroke of the tip of his tongue sent a rush of exquisite sensation through her, sucking the air from her lungs. “How … how would we do that?” she said in a gasping voice,

struggling to find something to distract him--to distract her own mind from the chaotic feelings surging through her.

The question had the effect of making him lift his head to look at her, but she

realized it had been a mistake when he shifted, arching his hips against her. The long, hard ridge of flesh that dug into her mound sent a stunning jolt of heat through her.

Almost as if in answer to some primal call of the flesh, she felt the muscles in her belly clench.

Enlightenment dawned like a cold douche of water. “Oh! No! I couldn’t,” she

babbled. “It’s … uh … it wouldn’t fit. Would it?” It looked and felt impossibly huge and hard. She knew, of course, that women had babies and babies were bigger, but

before the gods! Women died screaming, too.

His lips curled into a smile. “We can see.”

“I’m not ready to see,” she hissed, tensing all over and struggling to free herself.

He tilted his head curiously. “No? When will you be ready?”

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43

Never! “I have to say?” she demanded, appalled at the idea.

“I could just guess.”

That was even worse. She cast around her mind a little wildly for something she

could say that would stave him off for a while. The only thing that came to mind was not something she wanted to discuss with him--or any man. “I--uh--I--uh …. It is not a good time … now.”

His brows rose questioningly and she felt a blush rising until it felt like her face

was on fire.

“It’s my woman’s time,” she blurted baldly.

He looked surprised for a moment, but only a moment. Then he began to look

suspicious. “Liar,” he murmured.

“Almost,” she amended, without any idea whatsoever whether it was near her

time or not.

After studying her for several moments, he shrugged and slipped off of her,

tugging her up as he stood. “I will let it go … for now.”

Aliya was so relieved she felt almost faint. Nodding jerkily, she stepped away

from him. As she did, her gaze flickered to her drawing.

Almost casually, he reached past her, grasped the piece of parchment and

carefully rolled it into a tube. While she watched him, he took the roll, pulled the waist of his breechcloth away from his stomach and tucked the tube inside.

Aliya watched the entire proceedings with a mixture of dawning outrage and

dismay.

When she looked up at him, she saw that Talin’s eyes were dancing with

merriment.

The devil! He hadn’t believed for one moment that she couldn’t contain herself!

He’d known all along she was after that drawing, she thought indignantly.

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44

Talin sprawled negligently on his throne, his left arm propped on one armrest, and

his right leg hooked over the one on the opposite side as he studied the sketch he held in his hand thoughtfully. After a time, he dropped the parchment onto his lap and began to drum his fingers on the armrest beneath his hand, his gaze slowly scanning the great hall where most of his men were gathered.

They were a rowdy lot. Having spent most of the day bashing heads and

pounding away at one another with swords, they were in great spirits, and pretty well into their cups if it came to that.

Spying his master carpenter near the rear of the hall, Talin waited until the man

glanced his way and crooked an imperious finger at him.

Startled, Silo glanced to first one side and then the other. When he looked at his

king questioningly, Talin crooked a finger at him again.

Certain he must be mistaken, he nevertheless crossed the room quickly and knelt

before the throne, wondering if Talin had discovered something about the shutters and doors he didn’t care for. “Sire?”

“I do not believe I know your name. Do I?”

The carpenter sent him a startled glance. “Silo, Sire.”

“Are you merely a carpenter? Or are you also skilled in cabinet making?”

Silo glanced at his king uneasily. “I can do both, sire, but most folks think I’m

best at designing cabinets and the like.”

Talin nodded. Lifting the goblet he held in the hand he’d draped on his knee, he

took a long draught, then tossed the vessel over his shoulder. “Tell me what you make of this,” he said, lifting the parchment and holding it out.

Uneasy, particularly since he could see the king was a bit the worse for drink, Silo

took the parchment, straightened the curling edges and stared at the black lines

crisscrossing the page. Mayhap he’d had a bit too much to drink himself, for he could make nothing of it. Deciding he must have it upside down, he turned it around and

studied it again.

Talin leaned forward to peer at the parchment. An expression of displeasure

creased his features. Snatching it from Silo’s hands, he righted the sketch and handed it back. “This way,” he snapped irritably. “She is very talented,” he added challengingly.

“Only see how well she has captured it with nothing more than a pen and ink.”

Silo stared at the line drawing, feeling sweat begin to pop from his pores when he

found he couldn’t tell much about the picture at all. Was it a design, he wondered

uneasily? It didn’t look like a cabinet. There seemed to be figures of women arranged over it. A carving?

Mayhap the drink had affected his vision, he decided, moving the parchment in

and out of his focus until the lines didn’t look quite so blurry. “It’s quite nice, Sire,” he said after a few moments of fumbling around in search of anything at all to say.

“But what do you make of it?”

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Silo stared at his king unhappily. “It’s a very good design. Very good,” he

responded somewhat hopefully, wishing he hadn’t noticed the king motioning for him, or that he could somehow make an escape now.

Still drumming his fingers on the armrest impatiently, Talin lifted his other hand

and began to stroke his lower lip thoughtfully. “I recognize this place,” he said, as if he’d just come to a decision.

“You do?” Silo asked doubtfully.

“She was sitting there when first I saw her. What do you think that means?”

Silo’s jaw dropped. For several moments his mind was perfectly blank.

Suddenly, it dawned upon him that Talin must be talking about his princess. “Princess Aliya?” he asked carefully.

Talin glared at him. “Whom did you think I was talking about man? How much

have you had to drink?” he added suspiciously.

“A pint,” Silo responded weakly. “Mayhap two.”

“Well, you can not hold your drink man!” Dragging his leg off of the armrest, he

planted it on the floor and leaned forward. “This here is posts. There are several upright and then others sort of crisscrossing the top and there was a plant growing over it, a vine of some sort, pillows and such beneath to sit upon.”

Silo scratched his chin, thinking frantically. Abruptly, a thought came to him.

“An arbor?”

“Yes! That is the word I was looking for--an arbor, and benches below. There

were many plants in pots sitting around.”

“A garden?”

Talin thought that over. “Not the likes of which I have seen before. The dirt was

all in pots. It was on a rooftop.”

Silo nodded wisely. “How clever! Ladies love gardens. They are very fond of

flowering things.”

“Ah,” Talin said, nodding and settling back in his chair. “You think that is what

this means?”

Silo blinked several times. Mayhap the king was right, he thought. Mayhap he

could not hold his drink well at all. He was certain he had had no more than two pints and in general he thought he held it well, but he could scarcely make heads or tails of anything the king was saying. “Uh … yes?” he responded hesitantly, having decided that it would be best to agree with King Talin, whatever it was he was talking about.

Doubt shook him when Talin’s expression turned grim. “I thought as much. And

we do not have one.”

“I am certain we can remedy that, Sire,” he said hastily, trying to soothe the

brewing storm.

Talin glared at him. “You have magic that will make green things grow here?

For I am certain it would take that. There are no trees so high up and no plants.”

Silo gaped at the king, his mind scurrying around frantically for something to

appease the man--whom he’d begun to think had been bitten by more than a touch too

much to drink. “She misses her garden?”

“You said she did,” Talin bellowed impatiently. “Why else would it be the first

thing she thought of?”

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“Oh. OH!” Silo exclaimed, everything suddenly becoming clear. “Oh!” he added

when he realized that Talin was right. They had no garden in the palace because they could not grow things so high up. “I have no magic,” he added a little uneasily, for he could see it was going to be all his fault that he could not perform a miracle to help Talin please his lady.

To his relief, Talin settled back in his chair, however, draping one knee over the

armrest as he had before. Frowning, he glanced around the great hall as if seeking a new target for his wrath. Spying a servant, he bellowed for another pint of ale. Silo had just decided that he’d been dismissed when Talin focused on him again. “She will not smile for me,” he said morosely. “Mostly, she will only stare at me as if I am a monster.”